Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Choice

Having lost the protection of the entire fleet, the planet where Liu Meng now resides is in extreme danger. That’s why you newcomers, along with the vast majority of others, were sent onto the fleet under the pretext of support—surely you didn’t actually think you were going to provide rescue?” Chen Ming explained the inside story in a gentle tone.

“No, I have to go back.” Li Daoran immediately stood up and said.

“Don’t be rash. What’s the point of you going back? Do you really think that Captain Wayne doesn’t know the military order is fake? But he still chose to go help. From a soldier’s perspective, I can only say he made the right choice. What I just said to Xiong Shan was also correct—the only force left capable of rapid, effective support is this very surprise fleet. Logically, the location of that planet should be the greatest secret of the White Deer Republic. Whether the Philine Empire knows about it is still a question, but the crisis in the Knock System is imminent.

The Mermaid Fleet, acting as an unexpected force in the eyes of the Philine Empire, might just turn the tide, or even shift it in our favor. In the context of the entire war, this gamble is worth taking. If I were in Wayne’s position, I’d do the same. As for telling him to turn back now? Cutting off someone’s future is more unforgivable than killing their parents.”

“But isn’t pinning our hopes on the enemy not knowing too risky?” Li Daoran was still restless, speaking anxiously.

“Not necessarily—it depends on how much the enemy is investing here. If the Mermaid Fleet can sweep through like autumn wind clearing the leaves, then there’s no danger. The real fear is if, despite the fleet’s arrival, the situation remains stuck in a stalemate. That gives the enemy too much room to maneuver.

First, why would the Mermaid Fleet appear here? Reasoning from effect to cause, it’s easy to deduce that Skin Star is within the Knock System. After that, they’d have plenty of time to search for their target, and Liu Meng would truly be in danger.

So, it all depends on whether the Philine Empire has a backup plan—or whether you all can keep them too busy to look for Skin Star. It comes down to strength, and we, unfortunately, are the least informed party about the capabilities of both sides.” Chen Ming stroked his chin as he spoke.

“We’re new to space combat too. Even after studying the basics of warship command, we can’t claim to truly understand. After all, when it comes to war, believing everything in books is worse than having no books at all.”

“And yet you all still sound so confident? You make it seem like you’ve seen it with your own eyes.” Li Daoran caught the implication in Chen Ming’s words. He realized his anxiety was useless and decided it was better to sit down and help figure out a solution, calming himself in the process.

“Analysis, that’s all. Thousands of analysis teams work day and night to fill in the details—you think they’re twiddling their thumbs? There are other possibilities, but this is the most likely. We can’t rule out the chance we’re wrong. We’re constantly learning. Your rank is still too low, and our information is still too limited.” Chen Ming sighed.

“Alright, when it comes to intrigue and deduction, your Rabbit Nation still has the edge. The reports on our side make me want to crack open their skulls to see if they’re filled with water. One report even claimed this was all just a drill for the new recruits—utterly useless speculation—and it got the most support.” David rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Natasha couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re rich, aren’t you? Military exercises are a dime a dozen in your country. We never hold such things, but our report was just a blank sheet of paper—the General Staff thought the simulations were pointless. After reading the Rabbit Nation’s report, I really had to laugh.”

Charles shook his head, gave a wry smile, and said nothing. Their stance now was to lie low—they felt unqualified to speak on matters of war, content to follow the big players.

Tam, the most battle-hardened among them in modern times, had nothing to say either. He’d fight bravely if asked, but on other matters, neither he nor his people wanted to speak. They were satisfied with the current peace and had no desire to complicate things or compete for attention before Li Daoran.

“Honestly, I hope David’s right, because Natasha has a point—there’s no use in worrying about what we can’t control. I’m just a new recruit. What can I really do?” Li Daoran spoke from the heart, feeling his own powerlessness.

David’s backers would provide the answers Li Daoran wanted to hear.

Natasha, for her part, was straightforward: raising one’s own strength was what mattered—knowing more was pointless otherwise.

Only Chen Ming voiced the reality Li Daoran least wanted to confront, but which was most likely true.

The different national characters were on full display.

Li Daoran fell silent for a while, then said, “What should I do now?”

“Aren’t you doing it already? Standing out from the crowd, making sharp analysis from limited information—that’s the foundation for a senior staff officer anywhere. Heh. Raise your status a little—if you want to rescue your sweetheart in the future, you’ll speak with more authority.” Chen Ming’s tone was light, and at the mention of staff officers, he couldn’t help but laugh. Many such officers had already been sacrificed for this plan.

“Alright, I’ll head back.” Li Daoran nodded, stood up, and made to leave.

“Are you regretting it?” Natasha suddenly asked.

“A little, I suppose. But what I regret is that I left.” Li Daoran replied, meeting Natasha’s alluring gaze.

Natasha licked her lips. “What a cute little man you are.”

“If—I mean, if one day I have to go save Liu Meng, and my choice conflicts with yours, would you try to stop me?” Li Daoran stared at Chen Ming.

“We’d try, of course, but if we can’t stop you, what can we do? Whatever you decide, we’ll be there to clean up after you. Just don’t rush into things—rescuing someone isn’t the same as throwing your life away. You have to let us make a plan, right? Let’s talk things through; our lives are in your hands too, after all. You need to think about us.” Chen Ming shrugged, indicating that for now, Li Daoran was in charge.

Li Daoran gave Chen Ming a long, searching look. “I hope so.”

He then returned to his room, closed his eyes, and began seeking that resonant brainwave frequency.

After he left, Natasha looked at Chen Ming with a half-smile. “You really won’t tell him? Aren’t you afraid he’ll hate you one day?”

“Everyone dies, whether their passing is light as a feather or heavy as a mountain. At worst, I’ll atone with my life—or let him whip my corpse if that’s not enough. Sigh, why is he so fixated on me? It’s making me nervous.” Chen Ming’s gaze grew unfocused as he stroked his chin.

“Because he trusts you most,” Natasha replied. “Of the five of us, you’re the one he trusts most, and today, you lied to him.”

“Did I really lie? I just kept some things from him. And do you really think he doesn’t know? After everything we’ve been through, with the five of us guiding him, he’s no longer just an ordinary college student. Underestimating him will come back to bite you, Natasha.” Chen Ming looked out the window, lost in memories of their first meeting.

The five fell silent, each lost in thought.

Li Daoran returned to Water Blue Star, exhaled deeply, and made a decision.

“Brother Xiong, Liu Meng is in danger. We have to go back and save her.” Li Daoran said solemnly to Xiong Shan, who was still deep in thought.

Xiong Shan’s gaze froze. He was still pondering Li Daoran’s earlier words—they made some sense, but something felt off. Now, with Li Daoran’s declaration, the last piece in his mind clicked into place.

“We can’t go back,” Xiong Shan said, stringing everything together. Though anxious, he spoke the truth.

“We have to find the captain. This is a trap.” Li Daoran’s fists clenched so tightly that veins bulged.

“Alright, I’ll take you to the captain. You have that right. Whether you can persuade him is up to you—I’m no talker, I just follow orders.” Xiong Shan nodded, gesturing for Li Daoran to follow.

Once they left, the others’ eyes all turned to Xu Xingxing. Still mulling over Li Daoran’s words, he was slow to react. After a moment under their scrutiny, he looked up as they peppered him with questions, leaving him speechless. Irritated, he said, “Why ask me? Why not ask Li Daoran? How should I know? Get some sleep—no training tomorrow!”

As the others dispersed, Xu Xingxing muttered to himself. He’d always thought Li Daoran was impressive, but now the gap seemed insurmountable. He couldn’t even follow Li Daoran’s thought process—it was almost frightening. How did he shift topics so quickly?

Wayne the Blackhand: deducing a century-long plot of the Philine Empire from a single name, then abruptly switching to the current crisis, and then suddenly declaring Liu Meng was in danger—how were these things connected?

Judging by Xiong Shan’s reaction, Li Daoran had hit the mark. But why couldn’t he understand, even after hearing it all? Xu Xingxing fell into deep self-doubt.

Meanwhile, Xiong Shan led Li Daoran down a long corridor to an unremarkable door. Xiong Shan knocked.

The door opened to reveal a man in a dark brown trench coat, about 1.8 meters tall, with a thick beard covering half his face and shoulder-length curly hair, reminiscent of a Viking in Li Daoran’s mind.

“Xiong Shan, what brings you here, and who’s this?” Wayne greeted Xiong Shan, but his attention was on Li Daoran.

“This is Li Daoran, my student. He has something to discuss with you,” Xiong Shan said respectfully.

“Captain Wayne, it’s an honor.” Li Daoran bowed courteously.

Wayne waved it off. “No need for formality on my ship—we’re all one crew here. Come in, take a seat. Xiong Shan, it’s been a while. Are you here to introduce your prized student? You, using connections? That’s rare. For your sake, I’ll look after this youngster.”

He led them inside. To Li Daoran’s surprise, the captain’s quarters were like a simple hotel room—just a bed and a table, barely room for three people.

But Xiong Shan shook his head. “No, sir, he has something to say to you.”

This time, Wayne was genuinely surprised. He looked at Li Daoran. “Li Daoran, is it? What brings you to me?”

“Captain Wayne, we’re heading straight into a trap set by the Philine Empire. I want to urge you to turn back.” Li Daoran spoke bluntly, his words as sharp as a blade.

Wayne glanced at Xiong Shan, who shook his head. Wayne understood that Xiong Shan had told him nothing.

Wayne chuckled. “Usually, when someone tries to alarm me to get my attention, I ignore them. But for Xiong Shan’s sake, I’ll give you a chance. Tell me about this terrifying Philine Empire trap—what kind of snare could catch my Mermaid?”

Li Daoran was nervous; Chen Ming and the others hadn’t said a word, neither stopping nor helping him. He could only rely on himself now.

“The Philine Empire knows about you, perhaps even the location of our Skin Star. There’s a high-level spy among our superiors,” Li Daoran said, making the situation sound as dire as possible.

Wayne showed no reaction, only replying coolly, “Evidence?”

“I have no evidence, but—”

“No evidence? And yet you dare say this? If you weren’t brought by Xiong Shan, you’d be under arrest for espionage right now. You can’t just say whatever comes to your mind.” Wayne slammed the table, the noise cutting Li Daoran off.

Li Daoran wasn’t cowed by the outburst. Instead, it steadied him. He took a deep breath and met Wayne’s gaze calmly.

“I may not have evidence, but I can deduce—and you have more information than I do. You should be able to tell if I’m speaking the truth.” Li Daoran pressed on, and before Wayne could reply, he spilled all of Chen Ming’s deductions, embellishing them as he went.

“The Blackhand Wayne isn’t a single person, but a code name for Philine Empire spies operating within our White Deer Republic. Their goal is to find new routes past our defenses and infiltrate us. The operation has begun—there’s at least a giant Philine starship fleet in the Knock System right now.”

“Wrong,” Wayne said coolly.

“The politicians above, for whatever reason, refuse to admit the Knock System has been invaded by the Philine Empire, so they claim it’s the Blackhand Wayne’s doing. But in truth, the enemy’s main force controls the Fold Point, and the Knock System is on the brink of disaster.”

“No,” Wayne frowned but sat on the bed.

“The order you received to provide support is a fake—they don’t have the guts. Skin Star—”

“Silver Serpent Star,” Xiong Shan interrupted, expressionless, correcting Li Daoran without warning.

Cut off unexpectedly, Li Daoran shot a resentful look at Xiong Shan.

“You don’t even know the name, yet you speak so boldly. Still, you’ve said something interesting. That military order doesn’t seem like a decision they’d make, but I’ve reviewed the order—it’s genuine.

I suppose I underestimated them. So far, not a single one of your analyses is correct. Do you want to keep going?” Wayne tapped his fingers on the table—thump, thump, thump—a subconscious gesture as he thought.